


Boxing Match

by bar2d2s



Category: The Flash (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3923782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bar2d2s/pseuds/bar2d2s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some tricks need a second set of hands before they're just right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boxing Match

 It was in the middle of his third attempt to fit an entire boxing glove into a tiny spring-loaded, exploding Jack-in-the-box that Axel realized that he spent entirely too much time thinking about Captain Boomerang’s torso.

Not the first one, the old dead guy. His son. The hot one. Owen. Axel’s tongue jutted out the side of his mouth in concentration as he tried to work the spring down to the catch at the base of the box without setting off the bomb. But damn, did Owen have a great chest. And shoulders. And abs. Shit, there goes the bomb again. He jammed his hand into his mouth, sucking on his burned and bleeding digits.

Owen didn’t work out, but he trained. He was a naturally skinny guy, like Axel, with about fifty pounds of hard earned villain muscle on top of it. His arms were totally cut from all the throwing and catching he did, and his thighs literally bulged with strength. He had runners legs. He had a great ass, too, and the jeans of his not-quite-a-uniform did absolutely nothing to hide that fact.

A newspaper landed on his head.

“If you’re gonna try and blow yourself up, do it someplace the rest of us don’t have to watch.”

Len sounded annoyed. Len always sounded annoyed. Evan and the Wizard swore he didn’t  _always_  sound annoyed, which led Axel to believe that it was because of him. They didn’t argue. Len had been around since the beginning, he was the first Rogue.

He didn’t like legacies much.

But he liked Owen. Len liked Owen, which meant the rest of the group liked Owen. At that moment, Owen was over in the ‘kitchen’ with Mark, laughing at something the other man was saying. Mark’s hand was on his arm. Axel gritted his teeth.

“G'wan, get before the ugly starts.”

Evan was hauling him to his feet, shoving the bits of his failed experiments into his arms. Evan liked Axel. Or at least, Evan never acted like he was better than Axel, like he had more of a right to be here. Owen did that a lot. Because of who his dad was, who his mom might have been, he had closer ties to the Rogues than Evan or Axel did.

Owen’s smile was bright, and more than a little drunk as he weaved his way towards them. He wasn’t wearing his scarf, or his jacket. Just a black tank, and those stupid jeans. Axel bit his bottom lip to keep from whimpering.

“What'cha making there, shrimp?”

Shrimp. Shorty. Owen was over six feet tall. Axel was barely pushing five and a half. He was almost 18, though. Another growth spurt was in him, he could feel it. Soon, he’d be as tall as Evan, maybe. Tall and gangly, like Mark. He held out the pieces of his latest failure.

“It’s supposed to open, punch, then explode, but it keeps exploding before I can get the punch in place. The trigger is super sensitive.” Owen licked his lips. Axel’s final words came out in a squeak.

“Maybe you’re not doing it fast enough?”

Owen’s voice was deeper than usual. Deep and warm, like he cared about the things Axel was talking about. He took the remains of the box back to the kitchen, and Axel trailed after him, eyes glued to his denim-painted rear.

“Right, so explain it to me again.”

Everyone treated Axel like he was stupid, but he wasn’t. Yeah, he stole a lot of James Jesse’s tricks, but those ran out a long time ago. All the new ones, he made himself. He fixed the box up for the fourth time, showing Owen where the spring was supposed to attach to the bottom of the box.

“Why don’t you build the box around the spring?”

He’d been blown up again. Socked by his own boxing glove. What a simple solution. Axel dismantled the box, dropping the sides flat, then attached the spring to its base. As he held the glove, Owen put the box back together, and they both closed the lid. Owen’s eyes were still clouded by drink, but his grin was unwavering. He waved his hands at the box, 'presenting’ it. Axel laughed, and then Owen laughed too. 

“Will you two shut the hell up over there?!”

There was a game on, and Len got cranky if he couldn’t hear his game. Owen put a finger over his own mouth. “Shhh!” He giggled again and, for the first time, Axel wished he was allowed to drink their beer. He wanted to share this, whatever haze it was Owen was in. He wanted to know what it felt like.

Once he stopped laughing, however, it became obvious that Owen was drooping. He rubbed at his eyes, stifling yawns by biting on his lips. Axel raised a brow, and Owen snorted.

“Yeah, I know. I know. I’m goin’.” He dragged himself up, clutching the table, and Axel’s shoulder, for a brief moment while he found his legs. Then, with an affectionate ruffling of Axel’s hair, he was off, wobbling his way to the thinly-veiled custodian closet that served as his bedroom. Axel sat there a moment longer, glancing between the box they created and the last glimpses of tanned skin and blue jeans as Owen fell through his doorway.

If he shoved it off the table right now, maybe they could make another one tomorrow.


End file.
